


I Could Have Been

by Desdimonda



Category: Naruto, Naruto Shippuden
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Fingering, Angst, Blood, Blow Jobs, Depressed Kakashi, Depressed Obito, Depression, Established Relationship, He has both Sharingan, M/M, Post-War, Public Blow Jobs, Self-Harm, This isn't happy, Uchiha Obito Lives, post-war AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-09-13 05:05:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16886163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desdimonda/pseuds/Desdimonda
Summary: When a war ends, normal life feels awkward, stagnant and unfamiliar after. You feel like there's a purpose you left behind, or that it withered away, crumbled beneath the weight of lost life, of blood, that wont seem to wash off.But what if everyone else also blames you?Can anyone fault the village of Konoha when they see the white haired Obito Uchiha on the arm of the Sixth Hokage walking free and alive, when so many lie forgotten and dead?It's not their voices that are the loudest, though. It's his.~~A tale of Obito and Kakashi's life after the War, exploring the nature of identity, of lost - and found - love, of worth, isolation, and acceptance.





	1. 5pm

**Author's Note:**

> TW for heavy depressive themes and self-harm.

One by one Kakashi placed the dishes onto the rack, the flicker of the drops of water reflecting the waning afternoon sun. He’d gotten used to doing this quietly in the daytime while Obito slept, curled up on the left side of their bed. He’d never admitted it, but Kakashi knew it was a block for his scars, his prosthetics and eye. He’d spent so much of his life beneath a guise, wrapped in the facade of something else. Now he was bare faced, and free.

Kakashi tugged his mask down beneath his chin, wiping damp fingers against the soft cloth.

It was hard to let go of the masks.

Palms to edge, Kakashi leaned against the sink, staring out beyond the window, silence his company more than anything these days. He listened, letting it shroud the room until eventually all he could hear was the gentle breaths of Obito from the room behind, his sleep light and disturbed. Sometimes Kakashi joined him, but not often sleeping. He’d just lie there, drawing his hands over Obito’s body, through his hair, counting his fingers - just to make sure he was real.

Sometimes he’d do it and remember all he’d done to get here.

Crouching beside Obito, Kakashi feathered his fingers along his face, pushing aside the tips of his unwashed hair. 

For now, he was just thankful he was  _ here.  _

“Time to get up,” said Kakashi, thumbing beneath Obito’s left eye.

“You get up,” murmured Obito, shoving his hand away and pulling the covers closer.

“Way ahead of you by about ten hours if you remember this morning,” he said pulling at the covers and throwing them completely off. Obito liked to either sleep in the nude or wearing one of Kakashi’s tops, the mask scrunched comfy around his neck. This time it was the top, and he pulled the mask over his face with a noise of disgust at his sudden departure of warmth.

“Fuck you,” he muffled through the bunched up material as he glowered over the mask, the glare of red as threatening as he could make it. 

Kakashi just arched a brow. “You know that’d be much more threatening if your dick wasn’t hanging out and you didn’t smell like ass.”

“You smell like ass.”

“Your morning comebacks are sharp as ever.”

Obito pushed past Kakashi and got to his feet, pulling off Kakashi’s top and throwing it at him. “It isn’t even morning anyway,” said Obito through a yawn as he grabbed his day robe, averting the gaze of the mirror, and pulling it quickly on. Obito frowned and peered out the kitchen window. “Is it?”

Kakashi threw his top in the wash basket. “It’s about five.”

“Oh.” Obito pushed aside the curtain, trying to remember the last time he’d simply seen daylight. It was already sunset. 

Kakashi sat back onto their bed, watching him potter needlessly around the room, moving a piece of clothing from the floor to chair, shifting a box of half eaten macaroons from one edge to the other, placing one glove on top of the other. There was no purpose in what he did. But was that any surprise? He could barely find one to wake up.

Kakashi turned over his right hand, ungloved, bared. The stretch of scars and marks left by his Chidori and Raikiri over the years had blackened his skin, spreading out from an ashy fork at the centre of his palm, along his forearm in threads of jagged lines all the way to the curve of his shoulder, the tips gracing his chin like purple feathers. The scars were as thick and ridged as bark. He hated how they felt. Gloves had become his second skin, the mask his second face. 

At least the marks hadn’t stretched beyond his chin. Yet. He was still young and there was still time. And what did he have to complain about? All of his body was still his own. 

Patches of white peeked beneath the short day robe that Obito lived in, stained at the front with instant ramen sauce. Kakashi had forgotten to wash it today while he slept. He should just buy him another one.

“How was your day, almighty Hokage?” said Obito as he passed the mirror again, his eyes quickly avoiding the reflection. 

“I didn’t ask for it,” said Kakashi, pressing a thumb into the black fork on his palm. It throbbed when he was stressed. It hadn’t stopped for days.

“Still took it though.” Obito left the bedroom, pausing at the doorway to stretch, hands reaching far past the frame. The tip of his white hair brushed the rim. Kakashi wondered if his height was what he was always going to be, or was it thanks to the cells and prosthetics that helped him survive.

He watched him lean across the kitchen table, pushing aside an empty cup, flick through a newspaper, peek into a bag of crisps with a small “Oooh.” and then sit on the edge of the table and eat the remains of the crisps, while he stared blankly at the wall.

Was this what he was always going to be?

> _ “It doesn’t feel right.” A quick hand grabbed a kunai from the table. He was wide eyed and willful. And angry. Kakashi stood up, his book dropping to the table.  _
> 
> _ “Obito - what-” _
> 
> _ He clenched his left hand around the kunai and sunk it into his right. Blade sliced flesh, deeply. Then he pulled it up, up, and along, tearing and wearing, blood dripping to the floor and over Obito’s hand. He shook, the pain trembling his body. He dragged the kunai up to his elbow, splitting flesh and form, then threw the bloodied metal to the floor with a clink. _
> 
> _ Kakashi just stared, unable to move, to talk, and barely to breathe. _
> 
> _ “It’s me. It’s still me. But I don’t want it to be me. And it won’t let me take it away. Look. It - it just heals.” The cuts visibly sewed together, the deeper ones taking a little longer than the others, but the wounds healed as if on command. Blood still dripped. It stained his skin, patches of stark white against his flesh, it stained his robe, the floor, his hands, it stained Kakashi’s arms as he caught him falling to the floor, legs smearing the pool of crimson blood. He still hadn’t managed to fully scrub the last patch of blood from the grout. _
> 
> _ There were never any scars left behind as reminder when he did things like this. Kakashi supposed that was some kindness at least. Obito didn’t need anymore scars, inside or out. _

Kakashi began to make their bed, always asking himself the same question. Why bother? Obito usually crawled back into it after a few hours with a book, some snacks, sometimes Kakashi. Drawing a hand over the sheets, he knew exactly why each time. Even if Obito made this bed his grave, he wanted to make it comfortable for him - he wanted Obito to remember that he’d never, ever give up on him and forget. He didn’t let a day go by where he didn’t tuck in the sheets at each side and fluff his pillows, turning them over every day. It had become a ritual for Kakashi to wash their bedsheets. He did them all on one day. His small washer wasn’t big enough so he took them to the launderette a street down from Ichiraku. 

At first, he’d done it alone, Obito refusing to come. He’d sat on the bedroom floor, throwing empty pistachio shells across the room. 

On his fourth visit, he’d bodily hauled Obito with him, the promise that he’d take the next day off and stay in bed with him. It worked. Obito clung to his hand tightly, almost twisting it off as they walked. But he ended the night punching a mouthy jounin in the face at the launderette who decided to ask why he’d decided to stick around instead of jumping off the nearest cliff, when he thought Kakashi wasn’t listening. But that’s where he went wrong. Kakashi was always listening. 

Kakashi ended the night breaking his arm.

They didn’t make it home before Kakashi fulfilled his other promise.

Pausing, one knee on the edge of the bed he thought about stripping the bed now and bringing laundry day forward. The launderette was open 24 hours and they always went together now. It had become a comfy routine - something Obito even liked. If the day was good, they went for food or a drink afterwards too, somewhere quiet. But at the thought of food, he remembered that Sakura and Ino had invited them both to dinner tonight. Kakashi saw through their gentle nudge at trying to get Kakashi away from his stagnant routine and simply to get Obito out of bed. Sakura had grown fond of him, often ‘bumping into them’ at the launderette. A few weeks into her visits, she’d brought along Ino, who hovered a step behind Sakura, hand in hand, waiting patiently for Obito’s acceptance. 

> _ “Is this some sort of intervention? I know Kashi’s got one planned,” he said, a faux, bright smile stretching his scars as he leaned over the back of one of the chairs, looking up at the girls. _
> 
> _ Kakashi rolled his eyes and flicked the page of Konoha’s paper, waving away a young chunin who approached him quickly, seeing an opening. “Hoka-” _
> 
> _ “I’m off duty for the next two hours and thirty nine minutes. Set a timer if it’s that important.” The chunin backed away, warily avoiding Obito’s gaze. _
> 
> _ Obito, held up a hand. “It took becoming Hokage for you to learn the concept of time?” _
> 
> _ He looked up, then away. “Not just Hokage.” _
> 
> _ Sakura, breaking the moment, pulled Ino forward who extended an awkward hand. “Ino Yamanaka. Nice to meet you, Obito. I mean - properly. I saw you on the-” Sakura stepped on Ino’s foot and she laughed, her tight, toothy smile odd. _
> 
> _ Obito stared at her hand, but reached out for her other, his left hand taking hers. Ino frowned as her eyes switched from hand to hand, wondering why. But seeing the white patches at his neck, peeking out beneath his t-shirt, she remembered why. _
> 
> _ “Pleasure, Ino. Please give Kashi some tips on how to wear crop tops. He has the body, sure, but sadly lacks the style,” he said with a long, drawn out sigh. Kakashi rolled his eyes. Again. _
> 
> _ Ino laughed, and laughed, taking the seat next to Obito. _

“Laundry day tomorrow?” said Obito as he undid his robe, scratching at the ramen stain at the front and pulled it off, throwing it to the floor. “We should wash that too.” Striding across the floor, his toes curled into the plush rug as he searched for something to wear. Kakashi just watched. Was he actually getting  _ dressed  _ without purpose, without being asked?

“Where’s the top. You know the one with the thing,” he said, gesturing to his bare chest, the stark white cells stretching out across his chest like broken branches; cracked, listless, weathering to a tip beneath his neck. Kakashi loved to touch that part of his body just as much as the one he was born with, to remind him he loved both, he accepted both, and he wanted,  _ both. _

“The thing.” Kakashi pushed off the bed and approached Obito, drawing his bare hands over his chest, slow and smooth, his thumbs cresting over the jut of his collarbones.

“Yeah - the cute birds on it.” 

“Birds.”

Obito blinked, his black eyes fading as his Sharingan whirled around, the three tomoe forming in each eye as Kakashi leaned forward, a kiss gracing his neck. And as soon as the Sharingan had come, it went. Obito shook his head, shrugging off Kakashi as he pushed past with a shoulder and away, resuming his search for the bird top. 

“Not now,” he mumbled in a small apology far after his rejection had already done it's worth.

Kakashi just walked past, brushing a warm hand against his back. “It’s hanging in the wardrobe. Sakura and Ino asked us out for dinner. I’m going. Be ready in half an hour if you’re coming.”

Turning, Obito opened his mouth to speak but just watched the back door click shut


	2. Vision(s)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eating and drinking is something that is normal to everyone else. It's something Obito has to re-learn. Moderation slips away as easily as his seventh glass of wine.
> 
> Mirrors are something that are normal to everyone else too, right?

“I lied, of course, about the present I got Rin. We agreed to go subtle and small.” With a wave of his chopsticks, Obito laughed. “I got her this beautiful leather satchel she’d been eyeing up for months. Kakashi got her-”

“A bookmark,” interrupted Kakashi, deadpan and droll despite his small smile.

“A bookmark.” Obito took a long drink of his wine but ended up laughing into the red liquid, almost spilling it over his bird t-shirt. “Who gives people bookmarks?”

“I do,” declared Sakura loudly as she pointed her chopsticks at Obito. “You’re going to get a bookmark for every birthday now. The worst ones I can find.”

The realisation hit Obito harder than he would have liked. A birthday - he hadn’t celebrated one since before the boulder. And for a long time while he recovered, he didn’t even remember how old he was. While he lived as Madara and Tobi, he didn’t care. Madara cared even less and to Zetsu, birthdays were inconsequential. He remembered watching from the outside as some members of the Akatsuki celebrated their birthdays with the others. There had been no longing to join them or be the one celebrating. There was no joy for him, anymore. There was just  _ the purpose; the goal.  _

Yet the memories of when he’d had nothing and when he’d  _ felt nothing,  _ persisted. And they were unravelling one by one. Everything he should have felt returned to him. But it was like a strange, muffled song that played in the next room, the words unmade by the thick, unbreakable walls; the notes muted and dull, the melody still there, pushing through, desperate to be heard.

He’d love a bookmark for his birthday.

The glass of wine still hovered above the table in hand, but he decided against it and downed the rest in one motion, reaching out for the bottle and emptying what was left into the glass. The cells that helped him survive meant he didn’t even need to eat or drink to live. And for long periods of time while he lived as Madara and Tobi, he didn’t. He even forgot about the delight of a first bite after long hours of nothing, or the sweet sip to quench one’s thirst. It wasn’t until he teamed up with Deidara as Tobi did he give himself those pleasures again. It didn’t last long. It didn’t last  _ long enough _ . He’d had fun with that loud, arrogant bomber. More than he’d deserved. 

Food and drink had become so sporadic to Obito that it was a slow, gentle introduction back into his life when he moved in with Kakashi. He still didn’t eat everyday, and sometimes it felt like a chore. But the worst of it right now, was how quickly the cells metabolised alcohol. He needed to drink more than double to get drunk. He drank more than he ate. But he tried not to do it at home around Kakashi. He  _ tried _ .

Ino’s mouth opened several times silently before she actually spoke. “When is your birthday, Obito?”

He took another drink. “10th February.” And another.

Kakashi thumbed his glass as he side eyed Obito. It wasn’t going to help anyone if Kakashi interfered. He’d learned from the last time he’d tried to cut him off in public. In truth, Kakashi didn’t know what to do or say. Obito needed to find ways to cope - and Kakashi was the last person to lead by example. He took a drink of his own wine as Ino began to speak again.

“I throw the best parties - not to brag or anything,” she said, touching her chest.

“Shut up, you always brag,” said Sakura through a mouthful of rice.

Ino nudged her with her elbow. 

“Bookmark and an Ino Yamanaka party,” she said, drawing her hands before her with each word. “You’ll have the best birthday ever.”

Another drink. He swilled the remaining wine around, watching the red dance along the glass and fall down like streaks of blood, blurry and unfocused. He’d seen so much blood fall from his hands, on his hands, by his hands. “I haven’t celebrated one in nineteen years,” he said with a slow, slurred drawl. The glass was empty again.

Sakura and Ino shared a quick look. Kakashi just stared at his empty bowl. 

“Yeah it’s not usually high on the bad guy’s priorities.” He reached for Kakashi’s half empty glass after trying to pour the empty bottle again, but Kakashi pulled it out of his reach, catching his eye with a steady, unforgiving gaze. “I’m thirsty.”

“Just...take a breather.” 

It was there, ready to bite. An angry spew of words that would hurt, that had been rehearsed, that had been heard before. Everyone looked. Ino. Sakura. The girls behind them, laughing together. At him.  _ At him.  _ The child who peered up at his mother, inquisitively, a hand tugging on her sleeve, desperate for an answer to the question about  _ him.  _ An Inuzaka girl with another, who hadn’t smiled in half an hour, who kept looking back, forth, restless and uneasy because they sat too near  _ him.  _

Obito’s fingers that clutched his glass were white and cold.

He turned his head to speak, but instead a finger, two, touched the thick scars on his face, tracing the curves that spiralled around his cheek. And then he forgot what he was going to say, the words jumbled for next time. For there was always going to be a next time. And a next.

Kakashi touched the thick line beneath his lip before he withdrew his hand. The touch had been brief, so fleeting, but enough. Enough.

“I want dessert,” he said, leaning back in his chair lazily.

“Wanna share?” asked Ino.

Obito nodded with a half smile, ruffling his white hair.

* * *

 

They’d shared a last bottle over dessert. Kakashi kept it by his side, unreachable, and poured out Obito’s glasses for him. He didn’t complain. It was enough to maintain his buzz. After kissing goodbye to Ino and Sakura, Obito slinked off to the bathroom. He’d drank enough that he needed to pee. Using the bathroom was something he was getting used to again too. That, he could easily live without. 

Leaning against the sink, he lazily washed his hands, blinking several times as he watched the stream of water split into two, then spiral. Withdrawing his hands sharply, he looked away, then back again to see a single, warm stream. He washed away the last of the soap and without thinking, looked up at the mirror in front of him.

He hadn’t realised his Sharingan glowed red, bright and wide beneath his stark white hair. Although he knew he shouldn’t be surprised. He often activated it without realising when he was drunk. Kakashi had said it was ‘cute’. He’d also said his scars were ‘cute’. 

Obito snarled, looking away from his reflection, the lighting making his scars protrude deeply form his face, like they had been carved fresh, over and over. 

Wet hands whipped from the sink, and he wiped them on his trousers. But they didn't feel dry. They felt hot. Wet. Wetter. 

Red.  _ Redder. _

Obito took a step back from the sink watching blood drip, drip onto the porcelain, staining the stark white and bleeding into the thin cracks where it would never leave, never forget, just like between the tiles on their kitchen floor.

“ _ Look at you playing friend and lover _ ,” came a voice, a voice he’d heard almost more than any, a voice that moulded and marred, a voice he wished he never knew. 

Obito turned, looking behind, to the side, back at his hands, still bloodied and raw. Nothing. No-one. Then he looked up at the mirror. But instead of his ruined face, stared back another, with his red, wide eyes. 

“ _ You should be dead with me. Or suffering. There is nothing in the living you deserve more than that _ ,” said Madara, a loud, lingering laugh echoing through the bathroom, making his Sharingan flare bright.

“I am,” said Obito, clutching the edge of the sink. “ _ I am _ ,” he shouted. His wet fingers slipped against the porcelain. 

“ _ Not enough _ .”

Madara faded. Deidara appeared, his bright, beautiful smile unmistakable. 

“ _ Did you enjoy watching me die from the sidelines? Were you bored with me? _ ” Deidara pouted, blowing at his thick bangs.

“You  _ chos _ e to die,” spat Obito, his grip on the sink making him tremble.

Deidara faded. Obito swore. Another face began to appear. Brown hair. A gentle smile-

“No.  **_No_ ** -” Lifting a hand, damp, still seemingly red with blood, he punched the mirror once, twice, thrice, shards of glass falling to the floor and into his white skin. He shattered the mirror and the illusion, real blood obscuring the faux blood that faded, disappeared, along with the face that wasn’t his. All that stared back was his wild, wide eyes, disjointed in the broken mirror, obscured, but as red as the blood that dripped to the floor. 

He’d refused to let her face form before his cursed eyes, and her name in his heart and head. He didn’t deserve her. Not a look, a word, a thought, a memory. 

Nothing.

A shard fell into the sink where the water still ran. His skin knitted together, healing quickly, efficiently, as always. No scars left behind as a reminder. He almost wished there was. He pulled another shard, small enough to fall down the plughole.

The door creaked open, and shut.

“What happened?” 

He didn’t deserve Kakashi’s voice either, but it was still here for him.

“Nothing.” Obito pulled out the last shard of glass and threw it in the sink. He stuck his hand beneath the stream of water, washing away his blood, over, and over. His hands never felt clean, but at least he could fake it on the surface.

“I notice you avoid the mirrors at home,” said Kakashi carefully as he approached, fingers drawing down his right arm.

“I don’t exactly have a face for one,” he said, still turning his hands over under the water despite the blood being washed off. 

Kakashi tried to think of what to say, or laugh, or smile, or spew a string of rehearsed pity. Instead he slowly pried Obito’s hands from the sink, wet and trembling. He held the right one tightly with both hands and kissed the damp knuckles once. Twice. Unravelling fingers, one by one, letting them brush against his parted lips. “It works for me.” 

Obito’s eyes were still red, reflecting in the shreds of mirror, a myriad of eyes looking back, moving with him. But each looked different, reflecting the other names he walked beneath. Even the Obito he was born as felt unrecognisable to the one that stood in this cold, dark bathroom. 

“Let’s go home. I’ll make some coffee-” said Kakashi against his fingers as he gently tried to pull him away to the door.

Obito turned and pulled Kakashi into a kiss, desperate, fingers twisting the ends of his silver hair. “No.”

Wide eyed, Kakashi glanced to the door as Obito pushed him back, back towards an empty stall. “Here?” he gasped through their kiss.

“Like you haven’t done worse before.” Obito’s hands were everywhere. Up, around, in, out, as if he was trying to understand how Kakashi felt for the first time. Obito flipped them around and pushed Kakashi against the stall door to keep it shut.

Kakashi would have stopped him, but this was the first time Obito had touched him in weeks. All reason, withered. All sense, gone. All that was left, was this. Just, this, as Obito’s hands hungrily clawed beneath his shirt. Damp fingers dragged against solid muscle, feeling the scar he’d given him, remembering. He always felt it when they did this, as if he could never give himself pleasure, without first his penance. 

Teeth dragged along Kakashi’s neck as he kissed, white hair brushing against the tips of silver as he fumbled with his belt, shuddering as he felt Kakashi’s arousal beneath the confines of clothing, so close, close. 

“I want to make up for earlier,” Obito whispered against his neck, his cheek, before he caught him in another kiss, a kiss he hadn’t felt in days, in weeks; a kiss that made him shudder, that made him moan and fall against his lover, the stall door clattering, the broken lock dangling off its hinges. 

“There’s nothing,” breathed Kakashi through their kiss, “to make up for.”

Foreheads touched, damp skin tangling their hair then Obito closed his eyes, an aura of red still persisting beneath the fan of his white tipped lashes. “I have  _ everything  _ to make up for.”

Obito fell to his knees, hands following as they dragged, dragged down Kakashi. From the tangle of hair, to chest, to the edge of his trousers that he tugged down, smoothly. The air was cold, but Obito’s breath was warm. His tongue was hot. And his teeth were rough. 

Kakashi smiled, fingers gripping the top of the stall tightly as Obito drew his tongue from base to tip, hungrily. Fingers padded restlessly against his thighs, his stomach, keeping Kakashi steady as he lapped up, and down, brushing a thumb across his white curls. He was already breathless, his body trembling, shaking the stall door. It was only his hand that had touched him for so long, and Kakashi was finding that he was spiralling to his peak quicker than he wanted. He dropped a hand from the stall and twisted his fingers in- Obito’s white hair, briefly remembering when it was black. He’d barely had time to process that he was, who he was, before he became the Ten Tails Jinchuuriki, and nearly lost himself  _ again.  _

“Slower,” hushed Kakashi, tugging on Obito’s hair. 

Obito snarled, dragging his teeth against Kakashi’s cock, easing the touch with his tongue. But he obliged, slowing, pulling back his pace with a long, languid lick, nipping his mouth over the tip. Impatience licked his lips as he gazed up at Kakashi, the dull lights of the bathroom basking him in a yellowy-green veil, catching the tips of his silver hair, strewn across his parted lips, fanning out with each breath in, and out.

Fingers pushed against Kakashi’s thighs - he was a  _ vision. _

A thick brush of white hair swept across Kakashi’s stomach as Obito took his length between lips, sliding back down, and down, burying his nose into his small tuft of curls. The stall rattled. Nails scratched against wood. Obito knew where to touch, where to lick, to kiss and love. Fingers did what his tongue couldn’t, wet and messy, trembling with a mix of earlier and restraint. 

Kakashi was always quiet, his languid moans falling like whispers past his lips, quicker, higher as Obito moved faster. He licked a finger and slipped it beneath with a nudge. The whisper turned to a gasp, the gasp to a moan as his finger pushed inside. Watching from the floor, through crimson eyes, Obito made sure he was going to remember every detail of this. Earlier be damned, it was still worth this, on his knees, cold and sore, his cock aching against his trousers, untouched by even himself for weeks.

Kakashi’s request was waning as Obito’s restraint failed. He pushed against his lover, shaking the door, fingers pinching the skin as they pinned him still. Groaning, Obito moved down, and down, twisting his tongue to the melody of Kakashi’s moans, acting, reacting.

A hand gripped Obito’s stark white hair. He was almost there.

Muscles rippled beneath Obito’s hand. He could feel the edge of the scar against the tip of his fingers. He had to remember. 

His moans were louder, but still smooth. Obito had  _ missed  _ them. He sometimes heard Kakashi quietly in the shower when he thought Obito was still asleep. But they were different then. They weren’t for him. These were. Every movement, was; every touch, every unformed, whispered word that fell to just a breath, was for him.

Kakashi’s back arched, his body poised in a single, elegant moment, unmoving, unbreathing, the tip of his nails biting into Obito’s skin.

He was there. He was  _ here. _

With a last curl of his finger, with a last roll of his tongue, Obito gave Kakashi all he needed. Lips pinched the head as Kakashi spilled his seed, fingers twitching first, then stomach, rolling beneath Obito’s splayed hand, pushing, pushing down to feel every inch of his lover’s pleasure. A pleasure that he gave.

Kakashi gasped, sharply, falling against the door, his head tilting back, hands clutching the top of the stall as he held on to both the wood and the last, lingering waves of his orgasm. Obito’s wet lips kissed his stomach; his teeth clawed over the taut skin as he slid free his finger.

The door creaked open.

“Lord Hokage? You still here? We’re closed,” called a waiter from the door, his shadow cast long over the grimy tiles.

“Kamui,” mouthed Kakashi as Obito silenced his laughter and smile against Kakashi’s bare stomach. 

“What?” whispered Obito, not as quiet as he thought. 

“Hello?” The waiter stepped further in.

“Kamui, you idiot.” Kakashi quickly and quietly pulled his trousers up as Obito at last registered what he meant. Then without warning, mid zipper pull, Obito still on his knees, he was pulled from here and away, and they both fell messily into Kamui’s dimension, eerily silent and featureless but for Obito laughing loudly, splayed on his back.

“I almost wish they caught Lord Sixth Hokage getting his dick sucked in the toilets by former war criminal Obito Uchiha. What a great headline. And why is it always us Uchihas that make - or made - the best war criminals.”

“Uchiha and dramatic go hand in hand.” Kakashi knelt down, straddling Obito, his untouched cock still hard between his thighs. “We’ve never done it in here have we?”

Obito paused, his smile faltering as he glanced to the side. “It’s...not exactly homey.”

“It’s our own world.” He spoke the words quietly as he leaned down, hands inching up the line along Obito’s chest where flesh met prosthetic. 

Obito glanced to the other side. “So’s our bedroom.”

Pinching his chin, Kakashi turned Obito back to face him. But Obito didn’t see what he expected. It was Kakashi. But not now. Not here. Blood dripped from the cross scar, fresh and raw. His single sharingan flared crimson with tears and blood, with anger and hate, with despair...and love. His hands moved not with desire, but death. The intent on his lips wasn’t a kiss, but it was to kill.

And Minato wasn’t here this time.

Obito couldn’t breathe. He had to act. He had to do  _ something.  _ The kunai was just about to hit his neck. Reaching up, he thrust his arms  _ through  _ Kakashi, utilising Kamui, and took his surprise and height to advantage by rolling free from beneath his grip. He turned, grabbing the arm that held the kunai, kicked it free and pinned him down with a knee in one smooth motion. 

As quickly as the vision came, it went, and before him knelt the Kakashi from now, from here.

“Shit-” He dropped his arms, stepping back and rubbing his red eyes that refused to go away. “Shit-I-”

Kakashi stood slowly, rubbing his wrist. “You’ve been seeing things? I guessed.”

“It’s - it’s the Sharingan. When I drink too much it does something with my memories-”

Turning, Kakashi approach Obito who stood, eyes clenched, fingers twisting through white hair and with one hand at a time, slowly, grounding, he pulled him into a hug. 

“Let’s go home for that coffee.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect to treat y'all to smut so soon :))) but I hope you enjoyed


	3. Days Like Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kakashi is returning home from a very, very long day and comes back to find more than he expected.

**7:04pm.**

People avoided the cracks on the pavement, going out of their way to step over the fragmented lines that weren't supposed to be there. Kakashi didn't care. He stood on them freely, wondering what the world was like between the cracks, a world existing that wasn't meant to exist. A world that felt comfortable. 

When he was younger, Rin used to make a game of it with him. It was as if she knew he was waiting for one of the cracks to swallow him whole. Kakashi didn't know how she managed to smile after Obito had died. Looking back, he knew she did it for him. A smile and laugh; a long afternoon and lazy evening - they shared their grief, their guilt shrouded beneath a broken front. 

It all died when she did.

Guy and Tenzo helped keep the threads of him that were left from fraying. Braiding them back together when they unwound. Again. Again. 

The threads were shorter now, thinner, discoloured. But there were more hands than ever to help keep them together. And one of the most important, was the one that had pulled first. 

**7:23pm** . 

It was already dark. And it was dark when he'd left at 6am this morning, leaving a still awake Obito sprawled across their sofa, trying to push an empty bottle of wine out of Kakashi's view. He wasn’t eating. Talking less, sleeping less. Kakashi hadn't woken up next to Obito in days. 

Tenzo used to always be there when he woke up. 

Kakashi rubbed his eyes, quashing the thought. The comparisons weren't fair. To Obito, or Tenzo. 

When they returned home that night from Kamui, they'd talked until dawn. Kakashi thought they'd hit a turning point.

 

_ “More?” Kakashi pushed down the cafetière top as Obito sat back down, stretching an arm across Kakashi’s forearm, the gesture slight, intimate. It was both a yes and nothing more. _

_ “It’s like 2am.. Don’t you need to get up in four hours?” _

_ Kakashi shrugged, pouring them both another mug of fresh coffee. “I’m the boss. I can do what I want.” _

_ Crumbs of another ginger snap layered the table as Obito nibbled, smiling over his biscuit. “I like it when you go all bossy.” _

_ He looked up. “I know.” _

_ “Oh it’s laundry day tomorrow?” Obito stood and shrugged off his day robe, leaning into the bedroom and making his best aim for the laundry basket. “Close enough.” Nude, he sauntered back and took Kakashi’s hoodie draped over his shoulders. He quickly zipped it up and sat back down, dragging the kitchen chair closer, closer to his lover. Not once did Kakashi protest. He just watched, basking in Obito’s smile, in his touch, in each simple gesture that felt abiding. _

_ “I’ve got an afternoon meeting with the school board. We’ll go after.”  _

_ More crumbs fell, covering Kakashi’s bare legs as Obito nodded, his mouth full of biscuit. He brushed them away, just watching Obito finish off the ginger snaps as he swayed side to side to the soft jazz on the radio. Kakashi smiled, drawing his hand along Obito’s thigh. He always said he hated jazz. _

_ He drew his hand along his thigh again. _

_ Again.  _

_ “Can you just say what you want to say?” said Obito, his mug muffling the words. “I can see you mouthing the words. And your hand is gripping my thigh really tightly.” _

_ He let go. _

_ “That’s why you always wear the mask, right? So no-one sees your dumb ass practicing what to say.” _

_ “You caught me.” _

_ Words had hung on the blush of Kakashi’s lips for hours. Ever since the lies of Obito’s eyes and the wide eyed desperation as he’d seen what never should have been. Kakashi hadn’t tried to think much about it. He would deal with that later. The memory when he went in for the killing blow, when all he could see was the colour of rage and ruin, and hear the drums of war. _

_ Later. Later. He was for later. Obito, was now. _

_ He reached up and pushed aside his long bangs. He desperately needed it cut. Frowning, he leaned forward, parting a few strands. Was that black hair he saw? Or was it just the light. _

_ “In kamui,” began Kakashi as he felt Obito grow impatient at his silence. But the beginning of his words made the Uchiha pause. Obito had already told him what he saw and why he think he did, a hundred times- _

_ “You fought back.” _

_ Obito put down his mug, staring at the crumbs floating on the surface. “Shouldn’t I have?” _

_ “Back when - when it happened-” He pried Obito’s fingers from the coffee mug, afraid he might break it. With his prosthetic flesh, he had before in anger. “You didn’t even want to fight me off, if you could. You said you couldn’t move, but you could lift an arm to block me. That much I could see.” _

_ Obito watched the crumbs sink to the bottom of the black coffee. _

_ “You were ready to die-“ said Kakashi. _

_ “I wanted to.” _

_ It was Kakashi’s turn to watch the crumbs sink. _

_ Obito broke the silence, picking at a chipped edge of the table. “From the day we met, I barely saw your face and you always kept your words to a necessity. Not like Rin.” He smiled, tapping the table. “Enough words for both of us. And with me there, that’s saying something. But you. You kept so much covered, quiet. But not your eyes. I learned see in them what you wouldn’t show, and hear, what you wouldn’t say.” He paused, feeling Kakashi’s fingers tighten around his. He squeezed back. “Even if your other eye was mine - I could see how much I’d hurt you. The world? The rest? I could atone.” _

_ At last, he looked up. _

_ “But you?” _

_ Kakashi brought their hands to his face, pressing lips to fingers. _

_ “If anyone should kill me, I knew it should have been you.” _

_ “Don’t put that on me,” Kakashi croaked, dragging his chair closer. _

_ Obito smiled. “I fought back though, didn’t I?” _

_ “For so long I’ve been so afraid that you don’t want to live. And I don’t know what to do.” Kakashi’s words were muffled behind their hands and unshed tears. But Obito pulled him off the chair and into his lap, cradling his head against his broad, scarred chest. “I know what it’s like to not want to live- _

_ “But also not want to die?” _

_ Kakashi nodded, staring at the dim LED of the radio. “I mourned you once.” _

 

But when he'd left this morning, kissing the wine off his lips as he said goodbye, he just felt like they'd slid back down a mountain, another path carved into the mud. 

But even if there were a thousand paths he'd have to walk for Obito, he'd walk them all.

 

**7:40pm** . 

This path home though was familiar and droll. He could walk it blind and deaf. It was safe and stale. He was sure it was the only path left in his life that was now that Obito was back. Kakashi was Hokage, living with the pardoned war criminal who had begun the Fourth War. That was only where he began, and the war was what only some knew. What good would it do to have every sin bared and flayed before the world? Before eyes and hearts that didn’t and  _ couldn’t  _ understand. 

Some days, all Kakashi could do was not think about all Obito had done, and breathe. He was thankful if on those days, Obito slept too much. Because Kakashi’s guilt wouldn’t let him, and he just sat in the dark with Obito’s hidden stash of vodka, trying not to think.

He’d spent his life trying not to think. Why was it still so hard?

Featherlight, he’d tried to talk about some of it with him. From the time they stood one to one as Kakashi and Tobi; to the cave with Madara; to his brief breaths as a Jinchuuriki; and the hardest of all for Kakashi to swallow, the Nine Tails. The alcohol helped, letting words flow freer. Sometimes more so than either wanted. And sometimes the more he talked, the longer it meant he withdrew, the days of silence that followed barely worth the hour he’d turned over of his past. 

They were much alike there. Neither wanted to talk about the turned pages and the mention of it made them both withdraw further, further, until they did anything else but talk. Both were used to silence in their own manner. For Kakashi, it was pleasant and comfortable. But for Obito, it didn’t hold the same. He wondered how often and how long he’d had to spend his life in silence. 

Was it longer than he’d held his real name? For he’d held his aliases, his other monikers longer than just, Obito. Kakashi liked to make a point of gently calling him his name at good times, at happy times. He especially enjoyed whispering it during sex, and it seemed Obito loved to hear. The purpose was to reaffirm the attachment of his name to self - to remind him it was okay to be who he was. That he was, Obito. That he was,  _ someone.  _ Not, no-one. 

Plenty in Konoha carried his name on their lips with disgust and loathing, and some with no regard at all. On those days, Kakashi kissed him with his name; he’d sing it, if he could. He hoped the confession on his lips was enough as it touched his skin. 

And then there were days like today.

 

**7:59pm.**

The first thing he saw was a tuft of yellow hair, messy, spiky, illuminated by the streetlight above, the indents of his headband visible beneath the shadows. Kakashi didn’t need anything more to know who it was. A bucket at his side, a brush in his hands, he scrubbed at Kakashi’s door, beads of sweat crowning his brow.

“What did it say this time?” asked Kakashi as he dropped his satchel and peered inside, noticing all the lights off. Was he out? 

“Doesn’t matter,” said Naruto as he scrubbed harder, his jacket long discarded at his side. 

Kakashi glanced at the front of his apartment. The words ‘die’, ‘cunt’, and something ending in ‘er’ that he was sure was ‘murderer’. They were predictable, but not imaginative. Kakashi had thought worse. 

“Same as always then?” Kakashi knelt beside Naruto as he scrubbed what remained of the e and picked up another brush, starting on the remainder of ‘die’.  “And how did you get in? I thought I gave my spare key to Sakura.”

“You did.  I know where she keeps it.” A small fang pricked his lip in concentration. The spray paint this time was better than before. 

Kakashi lazily scrubbed, a finger tracing the outline of the ‘D’.

 

_ “Man, I wish we could go back and tell our young idiot kid selves that we’d end up living together,” said Obito with a tipsy giggle. “I’m going home. To a home. Our home.” _

_ Kakashi gently pushed off his wandering hands as they passed a neighbour, two, whispered words hidden behind blanketed hands. “Easy. Leave something for behind closed doors.” _

_ “Bo-ring,” teased Obito, his teeth on the edge of his ear as they turned the corner to their home. He almost bit, confused, as Kakashi stopped. “Now you’re just testing me” _

_ Kakashi said nothing. He took Obito’s hand. _

_ “What?” A giggle followed his question, but it quickly left when he saw the words scrawled across the front of their house.  _

_ HANG THE TRAITOR. MURDERER. JUSTICE. _

_ “Let’s go sleep at a hotel tonight.” _

_ “No.” Obito pulled him along the street, hand firm, steps hard.  _

_ Kakashi tried to resist, but Obito always had the strength. He could clone away, but that would be cheap. _

_ “Give me your keys,” demanded Obito, looking straight ahead at the door. “Mine are inside.” _

_ “Obito-“ _

_ “I said give me your fucking keys.”  _

_ He did. He watched as Obito fumbled with the lock, messily, dropping the keys to the floor more than once. “Fuck.” Obito slammed the door. “Fuck-fuck-” And again. _

_ Kakashi touched his back, feeling the curve of his shoulder tremble every which way he moved. The keys fell to the stone one last time as Obito’s forehead touched the door. _

_ “It’s our home. Our -our home-“ _

_ Kakashi kissed his neck, remembering the way the chain had marked his flesh. It was almost healed. “It’s just a place. My home is you.” _

 

Tilting back his head, Kakashi stared up at the door, remembering when they’d just stood there, for what felt all night, Obito refusing to let Kakashi see his tears.

“Doesn't it bother you?” The water covered Naruto’s legs as he thrust the brush into the bucket then sat back on his heels, near breathless. The tips of his black claws begged to show.

Despite the solidarity and rewound connection Naruto and his biju had obtained, around Obito, Kakashi often noticed the nuances of Kurama beneath, above more. Obito was the eye that had controlled him, the mind that had leashed him, even if the heart now touched a different beat. 

For some, it was difficult to forget, even if your other half was one of the first to forgive. 

Kakashi paused mid scrub, watching black drops trickle down the door, pooling on the stone. “We've had worse.”

“Worse?” Naruto slammed the brush against the wall, black nails dragging against the ‘e’. “If someone did this about who I love. I'd-” He scrubbed harder, harder on the bricks, willing away the letter. 

Kakashi turned. “Do what? I already broke some guy's arm in the laundrette. I'm supposed to be the Hokage. Not your local brawler.” 

“That's right you're Hokage! You're supposed to be able to take charge. Do what you want and need and make people pay for things like  _ this.”   _ The ‘e’ was gone now, the ‘r’ taking the remainder of his rage. Several scratches marred the stone of Kakashi's house from Kurama’s nails. They matched the old ones from last time, deep, ingrained. 

“That's not how Hokage works.” Kakashi said simply. 

“Why? You're the number one ninja in the village. You make the rules.” The ‘r’ was nearly gone now, despite the muddied water. 

“I still have to follow them. And show respect to the village, the people, myself-”

“What's the point in power if you can't do something with it?” He threw the brush on his last word, watching it bounce from wall to bucket to floor. 

But he had. One of Kakashi’s first acts as Hokage was to pardon Obito, absolving him of his war crimes, making him as free a man as the next. There had been no discussion - just Kakashi’s decision. He’d exercised his right as defining leader of the village - where he stood, the decision did too. He told himself it would be his first dictation, and last. Looking back, he wasn’t sure how true he’d kept that promise. He’d hoped that Obito would keep him off the straight and narrow, reminding him of their values, even as he stood as Hokage, wrapped in the threads of the system.

Staring through the window, black and cold, he wondered how much freedom he’d really given Obito, in the end.

“I did though, didn’t I?” said Kakashi, motioning to inside. “I pardoned him, when nearly everyone else would have hung him. It wasn’t fair probably, but at the time I didn’t care. I was in the best position to give him what he needed, so I did.”

“Why wasn’t it fair?” asked Naruto. 

“I abused my power. I gave no room for challenge. It was my way or my way.” Kakashi glanced through the inky window. “Does that remind you of someone? Or who someone used to be?”

Naruto wiped his forehead with forearm, his black nails receding back beneath his skin, bit by bit. “Hokages have always ruled on their own, the village resting on their decisions. Why is it so bad now?” 

Kakashi pulled down his mask, rubbing his tired, dry skin. He needed a shower. “It’s never really been...great. Some of us just see it sooner than others.” Standing, Kakashi threw the brushes into the muddy bucket. The rest could wait. “Others, never want to see it, so won’t.”

“See...what, exactly?” Naruto pushed himself to his feet, throwing on his jacket and headband, yellow hair messily sticking out and around. 

“How is Sasuke doing?” He fumbled for his keys after Naruto took the bucket and bag. 

“What’s that got to-“ Naruto paused, shoulders sagging. “Oh.” 

“Sasuke sees it. It’s why he doesn’t want to live here-“

Naruto scratched his head, looking away, his hand tight around the bucket’s handle. Kakashi paused at the unlocked door, recognising his symptoms. “Actually…It’s because of Obito.”

Of course it was. He’d just ignored it, evading Obito’s questions about Sasuke, afraid he’d simply answer with the barest of truth - ‘ _ You have the clan’s literal blood on your hands and you manipulated him - what do you expect? _ ’. Kakashi looked down, staring at the remnants of their cleaning pooled on the stone floor, his hand tight white on the handle of his front door.

“I mean - the village, the system, all of that keeps him mostly away too. But he’s willing to bear with most of it...for me. But knowing Obito is here and then seeing him walk around….with you-“

Kakashi opened the door, wordless. “I get it.” He stopped, almost falling over a cushion on the floor. He looked up, peering through the crack in the door to their room, seeing a body stretched across the bed. “Shit.”

“Kakashi-?”

His keys hit the kitchen table with a bite. “Go home Naruto. Thanks for what you did.” He paused, turning on a lamp, his eyes flitting back and forth to the bedroom. “Again.”

“Oh - okay. Anytime. I’ll be over tomorrow to clean the rest. And if I find out who did it, I’ll deal with-“

“Tell me,” said Kakashi as he emptied the bucket of water. This, an all too familiar sight and scenario. 

The nails were gone, now. Kurama had settled, his hackles smoothed despite being even closer to his controller. “After your big speech about Hokage respect and responsibility? I’ll deal with them. Don’t worry.” There was even a smile. Naruto always had one somehow. Somewhere. “Doesn’t a Hokage need some muscle to do his dirty work?”

Kakashi clicked on the kettle, looking back at the bedroom, door still ajar. “They’re called ANBU.”

“I talked to Sasuke about ANBU before. More than once,” said Naruto, hovering by the door, kicking the cushion aside. He followed Kakashi’s gaze to the bedroom door, curious. “Obito’s in? He didn’t make any noise when I was in earlier.”

“He wouldn’t.” Kakashi took two mugs from Yamato’s handmade mug tree, sliding them beside the kettle.

“And ANBU eh? It’s - that’s a conversation for another day.” He wished most conversations were for another day. Another day that would never come. 

Naruto clicked the door open, hesitating for a moment, more. “I’ll try speak to Sasuke again about Obito. Night, sensei.”

All he gave was a nod. There was nothing much left to give. It had been almost 14 hours since he’d left home and he couldn’t remember if he’d eaten today. Maybe. He could still stand at least. He ran a finger over an arm of the mug tree, remembering what was now just a sanded down etching. ‘KH+T and a date, long ago. 

He was tired. 

“How long were you listening?” Bare feet padded over the wooden floor in a way he knew so well - so distinct - he could pick him out from a crowd of a thousand, blind. 

“What do you think?” Obito leaned on the counter, watching the kettle as the two mugs sat in-front. 

“You could have helped.”

“And spoil my fun? I just  _ love _ to hear the regret in your voice about how you pardoned me,” he said, looking up at Kakashi with a sly smile, the tips of his canines showing. They’d been sharper since he’d become a jinchuuriki, and never changed back. 

“I abused my power,” said Kakashi quietly as he heaped four spoons of coffee into his mug. He ignored Obito’s. “That’s all I regret.”

“You don’t care about that shit anymore,” said Obito, switching his mug with another on the tree, roughly. A splinter broke from an arm, falling to the counter. 

“Careful.” Kakashi batted away his hand, picking up the splinter as if a piece of bone had shred from his body. He placed it on the windowsill with a quiet sigh. Obito watched, bemused.

“It’s just an old piece of wood junk anyway. We should get a new one. Purple. There’s not enough colour in here.” He reached out to touch it, but Kakashi grabbed his hand, stopping him with a firm, ungiving halt. 

“It stays.” He dropped his hand, unwilling to meet his eyes. “And it’s  _ you _ that doesn’t care about that shit anymore. I still have to - and I do. Just because one of us is a layabout with no purpose.”

“Nice.” Obito smirked, standing up straight, tall, taking his full advantage in height over Kakashi. “At least I’m not the Hokage, sucking the village’s dick.” 

Clink. Kakashi stirred his coffee, over and over, knowing he’d put in far too much and it could do with a touch of sugar, but he just walked away. 

Obito swore. “ _ Kakashi _ .”

He walked away.

A mug met the floor, shattering across the wood into several pieces with a hiss. 

“We have too many mugs, anyway,” drawled Kakashi before he took a lazy sip, hovering by the bedroom door. 

“Oh yeah?” Obito picked up the mug tree, two mugs attached still and held it up high. “Not anymore.” He dropped it, with a hard swing of his arm, the mug tree Tenzo had made for them, years ago, shattered into several pieces at Obito’s feet beside the mugs. But Kakashi didn’t care about them. They were disposable. Not like the memories that were once etched into that wood, even if now sanded away, Kakashi could always see.

But not anymore, as the remnants littered their floor, memories breaking down to flecks, splinters that would now only wear, wear away.

“Maybe I do have other regrets.” Kakashi took a sip, caught Obito’s eye and slammed the bedroom door.

Kakashi sank against the door, tasting the bitter coffee on his tongue when he knew Obito’s name should have been singing from his lips, a reminder, a reaffirm that he wasn’t what the village saw and what they had declared over their front door. But instead Kakashi had just helped them with the bitter confession on lips as vile as his coffee.

Because there were days like today.

  
  
  
  



End file.
